


Lethal Corrosion

by Littlestshaadow



Series: Lethal Corrosion [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Blood Magic, Blood and Gore, Gen, Murder, Necromancy, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 07:42:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11286753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littlestshaadow/pseuds/Littlestshaadow
Summary: In this AU, Achievement Hunter is a small task-force of Knights working to maintain order in their kingdom even as forces within attempt to tear it apart. Will Ryan’s secret projects wreak havoc? Will Jeremy’s so-called worship destroy him from the inside out? Will Michael err on the side of caution or stupidity with the choice of his new steward? Can Mica really have that much power? Will anyone ever learn not to challenge Lindsay with a sword? Can Gavin really play the fool for much longer? Is Geoff still willing to put up with the politics his position requires of him? Will Broken Mirror stop skulking around and actually Kill Some People?





	Lethal Corrosion

**Author's Note:**

> Formerly Known as Bladed Corruption- enough has changed that I've chosen to re-upload it under a different title. This is part one.

Early into the month of Elder the snow had come heavier and thicker than expected. Many felt they’d likely be socked in until the Nameless Day or later lest some miracle of weather blessed them with sun. A few knights paced with worry about a young friend; he’d left Burun earlier that week, the last day of the month of Reed. They knew his trip was roughly six days and he’d been gone for just two when the blizzard hit.

Blizzards were a concern in the area; a mountainous kingdom, it was heavily forested. Burun, the capital, was located on a river; the city to the north, the palace to the south. Backed by forests that threaded along the coast into hills that eventually formed cliffs nearer the ocean to the west, it was an impressive structure. In calmer weather it looked almost peaceful and one could forget that it was a structure that housed both the majority of an army and a small city’s worth of people, all in service to the King.

Now, hammered by driving winds and snow it would’ve looked downright intimidating, if one could see it at all. Inside, the bustle of daily life continued; included in that were some of the knights who worried after their friend, a recently knighted Sir Jeremy of Northwatch.

Sir Jack, Duke of Warden Wall, was listening to the discussion between another knight and his standard bearer. Both wore the black and red of Hayden’s Wood; whereas Jack wore his own cream and sky. The two seemed convinced their young friend would encounter danger and hardship, and while Jack himself was worried, he knew that Jeremy was more than capable of dealing with a blizzard. Hailing from the North himself, Jack knew well the short summers and long winters one had to endure just a few days’ ride south of the Frost.

“Enough; He hails from Northwatch. He has survived worse weather than this!” the Duke of Warden Wall snapped.

“Your Grace, that may be true, but he hails not from a coastal region; he may make assumptions about the weather that lead to his demise! We know his route; we could ensure his safety.” The Count of Hayden’s Wood returned fire; “Unless you can prove his safety now.”

“Sir Ryan, I understand your caution, but hear me out; Sir Jeremy knew the risks. He will return safely. We cannot risk any out in that storm who are not already out.” Jack moved to sit behind his desk, eyeing the other man. “If you are so insistent, you must have Duke Geoffrey’s permission to give chase.”

“You know our commander would never allow such a thing!” Ryan narrowed his eyes but knew his battle was lost. “Fine; but if this storm lifts _I will give chase.”_

“His journey is six days’ time; he informed us of that when he initially began to take it.” Jack shifted posture, maintaining an even tone. “If he has not returned by that time _then_ we will search.”

Ryan set his jaw; expression hard, he left.

Jack watched them go, before rising to find Geoff and warn the other man.

Making his way around the palace towards some of his commander’s usual haunts he considered their friend; Jeremy was young, yes, a green knight in that he’d only just barely weathered a year as one. He’d begun taking a journey every so often to worship some minor forest deity within a month of his knighting. He’d been unclear as to why; they’d assumed it was just a private choice. Jack shook his head; the younger man was not usually religious, though in this case it was still a quiet manner that he pursued it. Perhaps something had happened that had spurred him on to it, perhaps he’d always felt a calling but only recently chose to heed it. Regardless, Jeremy was a loyal man.

The palace was a vast building in that it spanned many levels both above and below ground, housing training rooms and celebration halls alike. Pausing a servant in their duties, Jack requested after his commander; the serving-man indicated one of the first-below level training rooms. Jack began making his way towards there; noticing a party arriving that bore the colors of a neighbouring kingdom. A few knights and their ambassador; no women with them. Either the Ambassador wasn’t married or this kingdom did not hold their people with the same respect.

Jack shook his head; it was likely that the visiting party would assume that women were not equal here. They would only make that mistake once.

.

.

.

The dark wood shelves holding several heavy books, containing everything from tactics to magical histories and herbology, signified they had found Sir Ryan’s rooms. Trevor automatically straightened some on the way by as they made their way through the space. Candles were lit for them in the rooms by servants because of the darkness of the outside storm. The study Ryan maintained at the palace was where Trevor, his so-called standard bearer, deemed it safest to speak.

“My lord, I fear for Sir Jeremy’s sanity if not his life.” Trevor’s tone was light; he appeared to be interested in a few of the books Ryan had on a shelf, shifting one from flat to standing as he traced the spine.

“Speak freely, Trevor; what has you worried?” Ryan had sat at a chessboard, gesturing for Trevor to join him.

“I had a dream; it showed little, but enough to set me worried.” Trevor set his side of the chessboard. “It showed me his steed; rider-less, by a stream, and it showed me blood on otherwise untouched snow. Yet I did not feel his life to be threatened.”

Ryan frowned at the chessboard, making a move before leaning back to regard his Standard Bearer. “Has he ever said what he worships? Many of us have assumed a Minor Forest Deity; I’ve recently begun to fear something more sinister, and your dream seems to fall in line with that.”

“He takes offerings common to forest spirits, but it could be to hide sinister intention.” Trevor leaned forwards; intent on the chess game that was progressing.

“Perhaps. Or perhaps he’s nothing more than a pawn in a larger game.” Ryan smirked. “After all, a pawn can be awfully distracting to those in charge.”

Trevor frowned; in check. Moving a piece, he spoke. “A pawn is oft just a distraction; but sometimes it’s the truest threat. Checkmate.”

It was Ryan’s turn to frown. “I forget you actually know how chess works, Trevor.”

.

.

.

Jack found Geoff in one of the indoor practice courts; one storey below ground, it was heated by a large hearth at either end of the hall. It was an ideal practice area in the winter where trainees could focus on footwork instead of the cold.

Geoff was watching the practice spar between two fighters; At the edge with him was Duke Matt of Hallam’s Swoop. Both were in practice gear, though both had their live blades. In the center of the room it appeared to be a friendly spar between Sir Michael and Sir Joel; the Baron of Kelowna Hold and the Duke of Queen’s Field respectively.

“A friendly match?” Jack asked of the two who leaned next to the door.

“Indeed it is, though we wait for the General and Sir Gavin to join us.” Matt spoke.

“What brings you here, Sir Jack?” Geoff raised an eyebrow.

“I have concerns relating to two within our ranks.” Jack eyed Matt as he spoke. The other man was watching the match come to a close as Michael, stronger with a sword, disarmed Joel. The door opened to two more; Gavin and Lindsay entered.

Matt stepped forward, requesting a match with Lindsay, who accepted.

“Which two, and why?” Geoff was watching the match.

“Sir Ryan and Sir Jeremy. Specifically, that Sir Ryan is rather inclined to chase after Sir Jeremy, in spite of his capabilities in weathering a storm.” Jack’s tone was dry.

“Your Grace if I may intrude?” Michael had joined them by the wall while Gavin was chatting with Joel. Receiving a nod from both he continued. “It seems that Sir Ryan has taken an... _aggressive_ interest in Sir Jeremy’s worship. From last I overheard, he was planning to follow Sir Jeremy the next time he went on his excursion because he was suspicious.”

“And your opinion?” Jack raised his eyebrows. Michael was known for his bluntness, but he and Geoff valued it.

“I feel that Sir Ryan is full of shit, and that he needs to learn to trust Sir Jeremy.” Michael was watching the spar more intently.

Lindsay’s sword came up, blocking Matt’s aggressive attack; she broke away, immediately returning with a complex double butterfly attack. Feigning up the right side- Matt obviously falling for such feints, she descended down the left, disarming Matt and sending the supposedly more experienced knight toppling.

“There’s a reason you’re the General, eh?” Matt was laughing as he stood. “Better with a sword, better with your tongue.”

Lindsay bowed, re-sheathing her sword, declining to answer.

“Who gave the woman a sword?” That voice was new- male, obviously not from the area. “In our country, _women_ know their place.” He spat.

“And where do you hail from?” Ryan had entered following the man, Trevor hot on his heels. “I see no colors; You’ve obviously left your visitation party.” Ryan’s words were cold, harsh and scolding.

“I’m Duke Garvey of Hayrse. Knight-captain of the Hayrse Ambassadorial party.” The man’s tone was haughty, cruel and obnoxious. “No one has explained why you’ve given a _whore_ a sword.”

Lindsay arched an eyebrow at him. “Is that a challenge, Captain?”

“You know your place, woman.” Garvey was not catching the hints from the several knights in the room who had placed hands on pommels and hilts.

“Perhaps you should address the General by her rank.” Geoff’s tone was equal to Ryan’s.

“If this concubine is a general, I’ll eat my cloak.” Garvey sneered.

“Shall I fetch the pepper, my lord?” Trevor asked Ryan, playful in tone.

“Perhaps the salt, Trevor?” Jack smirked at the standard bearer “Unless the General feels it unnecessary to waste such an expensive spice on a foreign bastard.”

“At ease, all.” Lindsay had moved to the center of the room. “I need not your praises, Sir Garvey, but I assure you, you would prefer not to insult me, nor the men who report to me.”

“You’ll eat your words, bitch. I’ll take you up on your challenge, and when your head meets the floor it will be known that I am correct.”

Lindsay rolled her eyes, drawing her sword. She didn’t bother with banter as someone called them to guard; simply stared him down. The call to begin was echoed by the impact of blade against blade as Lindsay stepped forwards, blocking his swing and immediately disarming him. Leveling her blade at his throat as he raised his hands, Lindsay’s eyes were like ice.

A cheer from her friends echoed as Lindsay stepped back. “Perhaps you need to rethink your words, Sir Garvey.”

“I agree with the General, Sir Garvey. No wonder your advances are rejected by all the ladies at court.” This voice was also new; turning to face the entrance, everyone knelt for King Michael of Burun. “Your Majesty, please excuse my knight’s behaviour. Such a slight by his hand is not tolerated; we will deal with him swiftly.” The ambassador that spoke to the king, who was known as Burnie to his friends, looked to be a shade of plum one often associated with rage. “If you’ll Excuse us?” Burnie nodded his approval; leaving just locals in the training room.

“Sir Matt, I have need of you. You as well, General.” Burnie nodded at the others; business, then.

Both rose to their feet, bowing, then followed. Geoff and Jack exchanged a look as Gavin and Michael took to the center to practice.

“Sir Jack, I came to apologize for earlier.” Ryan sounded sincere, “It was foolish of me to think that Sir Jeremy was incapable of taking care of himself.”

“Thank you, Sir Ryan.” Jack nodded.

.

.

.

Dawn of the sixth day since Jeremy’s departure brought clear skies and the strange hushed silence that came with new fallen snow. Trevor was walking to the stable per Ryan’s orders to find Jeremy, only to have the other man pass through the gate, leading his tired horse.

Trevor followed his friend into the stables as Jeremy moved through the motions of a thorough rub-down. A stable-hand made haste to assist; calling one of the others for a warm mash for the poor beast. Leaning on the stable gate, Trevor could hear Jeremy murmuring compliments to his Booker.

Tapping the pendant he wore under his shirt, Trevor watched Jeremy finish stabling his horse.

“Good morning Trevor.”

“Hello Sir Jeremy.” Trevor unhitched himself from the post and followed the shorter man out of the stables.

“What brings you down here, Trevor?” Jeremy sounded much like an exasperated teacher.

“I’d been considering a ride, but saw you’d returned. How was your… excursion?” Trevor was trying to place what seemed off about his friend.

“Wet.”

“Were you out in that storm?” Trevor tried to prompt conversation.

“Yes.”

“I’m glad you returned safely!” Trevor glanced around- saw Ryan approaching as they entered the wing Jeremy was housed in- It was a floor below Ryan’s rooms.

“And _there’s_ Sir Ryan.” Jeremy’s sarcastic tone tipped towards exhaustion.

“Good morning Sir Jeremy! Glad to see you’ve returned safely!” Ryan sounded slightly surprised to see him.

“Hello Sir Ryan. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to warm up before conversing.” Jeremy elected to be blunt. He was tired.

“Of course!” Ryan smiled.

Jeremy left their presence, disappearing into his rooms, startling the servants who were present into action drawing a bath and bringing food.

“Did he ride all night?” Ryan directed the question at Trevor, who nodded before replying.

“It seemed so, my Lord. Walked the last distance, that’s for certain. His poor beast was just as exhausted as he appears.”

“Poor lad probably didn’t want anyone worrying about him being absent for any longer than he intended.” Both Ryan and Trevor jumped; Sir Matt. “My apologies. I have need of you, Lord Ryan. Your Standard Bearer may attend as well.”

“Of course, your Grace.” Ryan spoke; he and Trevor both bowed before following Matt up the stairs, exchanging a glance.

The winding path they took did not take them to Sir Matt’s office; in fact, it led them through the palace until they reached his personal quarters. The two exchanged a second glance; this was apparently not a work-related meeting despite the invite’s initial tone.

Following Matt into his rooms they found themselves in his study; compared to Ryan’s- all dark wood and plain- Matt’s was elaborate. Ornately carved, light colored wood supported mother-of-pearl inlay and expensive but effective weaponry; books were reserved for a few select shelves. He gestured for the two to take a seat opposite him. Both were tense though they took up the offer.

“I’m sure you’re curious as to why I had need of you,” Matt received a nod from Ryan, “But first, let me call for some breakfasts.”

.

.

.

Having cleaned up and eaten something more than stale bread and cheese, Jeremy, now dressed in a country noble’s jerkin, pants, and riding boots, began a wander around the palace to pass some time. He’d wandered past the chapel; an area of the castle dedicated to the Pantheon, the five Gods most commonly accepted to worship. Jeremy shook his head, but stepped inside. He didn’t want conversation, and it was not encouraged in the chapel. Knelt near the back, he could see the five altars, strewn with offerings with the exception of the left from center one. Centered was the altar of Cailleach or the Hag; Queen of the Pantheon, goddess of change and chance.

Cailleach was oft considered a dangerous one to offend; Her altar was strewn with dice and Tarot cards, candles and coins. Cailleach was depicted in statue form as an old hag, veiled, resting on a cane on her left and with dice in her right hand. Jeremy made the appropriate sign against his chest, a three-fingered flat press with his right hand over his heart.

The left from center altar sat empty; customary though it was, it still _felt_ wrong to see. This Goddess was Omnos, who presided over Death and Life, or Fear and Courage. The statue that stood behind this altar was a hooded figure that no matter what side one viewed it from always appeared to be facing away. They were not one to offend, being both the second most powerful one and the gentlest, lest one chose to offend Them. Jeremy placed the index finger of his right hand against his lips and bowed his head; a customary gesture.

Right of center was the altar of the third most powerful of the Pantheon; Cairn, the master of the Home, guidance, and protection. His altar was strewn with hearthstones, fruits, bread, wheat, alcohols, and coins. He was depicted as a short man wearing the apron of a cook and the beard of a wanderer; his statue was smiling, visibly kind.  His sign was clasping hands held before the chest; Jeremy mimicked the gesture out of respect.

On the far left was the altar of Arawn; God of Warfare, Tactics, and Battles. His statue stood, sword aloft, shield at his feet. He did not smile. His altar was strewn with damaged, bloody blades, and broken shields. His gesture was a closed fist over the heart; once again out of respect Jeremy mimicked the movement.

The last altar, next to Cairn, stood a statue of Gwyddaeon; Goddess of Magic and Crafting. She wore the customary Black Robes of a mage, hair wild and unbound, all floating from some invisible wind. Her altar was sparsely populated by crystals and herbs. Her gesture was an extended index and little finger framing a ring and middle finger gripped by the thumb, with the back of the hand held horizontally against the left side of the throat. Jeremy was just lowering his hand when he heard the door open behind him; someone else had come to worship. 

Or not, seeing as it was Michael, tapping on his shoulder and gesturing to outside.

Jeremy stood and followed. They were quite a distance away from the door when Michael inclined to stop.

“How are you, Sir Jeremy?”

“I’m alright, yourself?” Jeremy raised an eyebrow; something about Michael’s tone suggested mischief or worry.

“Not bad, not bad. Has _Sir_ Ryan found you already?” Michael was looking around like he expected someone to show up or felt that he might be speaking unsafely.

“We spoke, yes.” Jeremy eyed Michael; what was he getting at?

Michael glanced around again before speaking, “It’s primarily that he doesn’t seem to trust you or your judgement, Jeremy. That’s all.”

“I had noticed, yes.” Jeremy sighed. “It is unfortunate, because I believe he might be intending to follow me.”

“He does! He just chooses to vocalize it as concern for your safety.” Michael nodded, “If you’re not too tired, would you like to join Sir Gavin and I in the practice halls, in say, an hour?”

“Certainly, though I might not be in best form today.”

Michael nodded again before departing; Jeremy returned to his rooms to retrieve his equipment. Grabbing his practice chain- his regular armor was in the process of being cleaned after the week’s wet ride- and his sword. His light practice armor had always been a joke about the atrocious color scheme; it had been doused in so many potions and concoctions that the metal was a bizarre mix of gold, purple, and orange. Having reached the practice hall, he found Gavin and Michael joking lightly with the General.

“Good morning Sir Jeremy!” Lindsay grinned, “I know you’ve had a long night, but please humor us in some practice bouts!”

“Of course, General.” Jeremy smiled back. Observing the first bout between Gavin and Lindsay, Jeremy was interested to note that Lindsay was going _easy_ on Gavin.

“Still have that ridiculous practice armor, eh?” Michael grinned towards him; the sword he was cleaning was a two-handed bastard that could easily-and probably would- cleave a man in two.

“You still have Mogar there.” Jeremy indicated the sword; the origins of the name may have been lost, but the power behind naming a blade still stood.

“Yes, but Mogar has proven himself more than once; that armor is just an atrocity on the eyes.” Michael’s tone was light.

“Garish or not, it is my practice armor, and my other set is being cleaned.” Jeremy rolled his eyes and watched the aggressive takedown Lindsay doled out once she got bored of the fight.

“Gentlemen?” Lindsay gestured for them to take the field as she helped Gavin to his feet; Jeremy figured this was going to be a one-sided beating. He was tired.

Michael faced him; Jeremy knew Michael had sword length and personal height advantage here. Called to begin, Jeremy chose a different route than his usual block-and-analyze. He stepped under Michael’s guard.

Michael’s sword descended in an attempted attack; Jeremy moved in a way that forced Michael to block instead. Stepping in closer, he rather bluntly used a hook motion to pull Michael’s sword out of his hand.

Michael broke away, maintaining his grip instead. Choosing to charge, he leapt forwards.

Jeremy sidestepped before mimicking the hook motion to send Michael’s sword flying. Leveling his blade at Michael, then accepting Michael’s yield.

“You’re not usually one to attack first, Sir Jeremy.” The statement came from a new voice.

Both men turned to face the newcomer. She wore the black robes reserved usually for high ranking mages. The staff she carried signified that she most definitely was one.

“I felt I wanted to get any beating that was coming for me over with as soon as possible, My Lady.” Jeremy did his best to hide nerves; he was exhausted and it was sinking into him like waves.

“Interesting tactic, though.” Lindsay commented. “What brings you down here, Lady Mica?”

“The king has need of you and I, so I figured it was best if we arrived together.” She smiled. There was something terrifying about being in a room with someone who was that powerful.

Both women left, and Jeremy finally realized something.

“Lady Mica is a Black Staff warmage, right?” receiving an awed nod from Gavin he continued. “That means she’s one of maybe ten people who’ve got that much power in the world, yeah? Does she bear a disturbing resemblance to Gwyddaeon, or is my exhaustion catching up to me?”

All three men made the pronged gesture against their throats before Michael nodded.

“Indeed, she does. Best to stay on her good side.”

Several floors away and several minutes later, Jeremy had returned to his rooms and removed his armor and shirt. Stretching, he grimaced; everything was a solid ache. 

“My lord? Are you alright?”

Turning around, Jeremy blinked at the serving man who had apparently been in his study; it was an odd way to introduce yourself.

“Forgive me, I’m Miles Luna, a servant of the King.” His tone was the soft tone adopted by servants when they spoke to nobility.

“Why are you here, Mister Luna?” Jeremy did his best to avoid sounding annoyed; he was just surprised.

“His Majesty sent me to check up on you and ensure your needs were met as you were due to return from an excursion today. I only inquired as to your wellbeing because you entered so… _blindly,_ m’lord.”

“…Had you spoken prior to asking if I was alright?” Jeremy’s tone shifted from curious surprise to worry.

“I had but simply took your passing as exhaustion; have you need of a healer?” Miles’ tone was now concern.

Jeremy blinked. Had he heard the man correctly?

Did he need a healer?

“No. thank you for your concern, Mister Luna.” Jeremy wondered what about him had brought on _that_ question.

“M’lord if I may inquire…?” Miles received a nod from Jeremy before continuing, “Does the stone set in your pendant _pulse?”_

Jeremy glanced down at the red stone. “You know, I’ve never noticed before. But if you don’t mind, I’d like some rest. You’re dismissed.”

“Aye, M’lord.” Miles stepped out; Jeremy sat on the bed and put his head in his hands. He could feel a headache brewing.

The pendant _was_ pulsing.

.

.

.

 

“Miles? You’ve returned rather swiftly.” The king of Burun glanced up from his desk and work as his personal serving man entered his study. His tone betrayed his concern.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Miles’ tone betrayed his own worry, confirming the well disguised fear in his face.

“What have you found? Is Sir Jeremy doing well?” Burnie leaned forwards; he’d taken an interest in the younger knight when he’d been selected to work directly with the small team of knights that Burnie had assigned under Sir Geoffrey’s command.

“He… Your Majesty, it seems that Sir Jeremy is…” Miles swallowed and shook his head. “Sir Jeremy appears to be suffering some kind of ailment, but denied need of a healer. It also appears that the chain he wears is _not_ for a religious amulet as most servants assumed.”

“By the Gods, man, what is so disturbing about this?” Burnie stood; if Miles couldn’t explain it, he would have to go request it of the young knight himself.

“Your Majesty, this pendant he bears… it is set with a strange stone, and that stone,” Miles moved his hands to illustrate the size, “is about the size of an infant’s palm, and it _pulses.”_

“It Pulses.” Burnie blinked. “What color is the stone?”

“A deep red, Your Majesty.” Miles was visibly shaken. Perhaps his imagination had run away with him.

“And you feel that Sir Jeremy is suffering an ailment; what were the symptoms?” Burnie glanced over at some of his books on artifacts; perhaps one of those had this stone documented.

“His skin appeared pale, like he’d recently lost blood; it was almost translucent.” Miles looked slightly disgusted.

“Perhaps his ride was harder on him than he lets on; I’ll be speaking with him shortly. Please inform Duke Matt and request his presence here after the evening meal. You’re dismissed.” Burnie was slightly lost in thought at this point; Miles bowed and left.

Some time later Miles knocked on the door to Duke Matt’s study. The man was the spymaster, and was in the process of cleaning a shield on his desk after granting Miles entry.

“What brings you here, Mister Luna?” The duke sounded bored or lost in thought; he was probably preoccupied with his work.

“His Majesty requests your presence in his study after the evening meal, Your Grace.” Miles regarded him calmly, noting that the orange shield needed a retouching of paint on the gray anchor.

“I see; did he indicate if it was a personal call or related to business?” Matt inquired.

“He did not, Your Grace.”

“Please inform him that my tasks as spymaster require his attention soonest; regardless of the nature of the meeting.” Matt nodded at Miles. “You’re dismissed.”

Miles stepped back out from the study and began the walk back to the King’s rooms.

He stopped for a moment in one of the servant’s quarters; he’d begun to feel slightly ill.

Alone, he took the opportunity to rest his head against the cool stone of the wall. He’d previously come to the realization that he didn’t remember much of his past; he’d been hired on to the palace staff at some point, but he didn’t remember what his initial position had been.

A very sudden feeling, like a mental snap of a riding crop to the head, sent him to his knees. He clutched at his skull for a moment as it felt like a wave of sudden _knowledge_ coming back to him before something caught his eye; a tattoo, maybe an inch long. It looked almost like a brand against the pale skin of his left wrist.

It was a stylized pair of letters; the initials of the organization he truly represented.

The Broken Mirror.

He remembered everything now; and he grinned at what he was here to do.

.

.

.

“Sir Jeremy, are you here?” Jeremy sat up sharply and moved to stand at the sound of the voice. “No, no, man. If you’re feeling ill, please remain seated.”

“What brings you here, Your Majesty?” Jeremy peered into the darkness of his rooms; reaching for a matchstick to light a candle he paused for a moment as a passing pain struck him before continuing to light it.

“Please, Jeremy. It’s Burnie to friends. I sent my serving man to check up on you mostly to ensure Ryan wasn’t hassling you, but he came back worried about your health.” Burnie’s tone was friendly, almost fatherly.

“I’m alright Sir, really. It’s just the ride catching up with me.” Jeremy realized immediately that Burnie had heard that excuse before as the other man smirked.

“Ah yes, and Pages who get into fights ‘fell down’. I’ve heard the excuses. But please, Jeremy. If something ails you, it’s best to seek assistance soonest. While I know you to be Orange Forge, that doesn’t mean your alchemy will always work.” Burnie’s tone was kind but stern.

“It’s nothing to worry about, really.” Jeremy knew the statement was weak; he wasn’t totally sure what had convinced Miles that he had need of a healer as of yet.

“You’re visibly in _pain_ , Jeremy. You’re a reasonably green knight; you’ve yet to weather two years as one and what pains you’ve collected should not be chronic but if they are you need to seek assistance.”

“The pain is passing. I’m not suffering from it.” He regretted the words immediately as he felt the pain come in another wave.

“You are. Visibly. Need I send for a healer?” Burnie met Jeremy’s eyes with a stern look.

“I’ll seek assistance, Sir, but I’m almost sure that no healer can help me now.” Jeremy had tried so many potions in recent months that he feared he’d overdone it.

“You know, some of the servants have found you’ve been down to the chapel more often than usual recently. Are you concerned that you’ve incurred Their wrath?” the tone was still kind.

“No Sir. I’ve just felt more of a calling to it than I had previously.” The stone on his chain suddenly felt hot.

Burnie seemed to notice and stepped back. “I had assumed Miles was wrong about that stone you wear. Where did you find that?”

“It was a gift from my patron.” Jeremy hoped that was enough truth to satisfy the king. He wasn’t lying, it just wasn’t the whole truth.

“I implore you to consider the origins of that stone; it seems odd that it pulses like that.” Burnie looked slightly horrified.

Jeremy bit his lip and nodded; the pain was reaching a point where left unchecked he might lose consciousness. “Perhaps now _is_ a time to seek a healer.”

“I’ll send for one. We have a Red Laurel on staff; they should be able to assist you.” Burnie stuck his head out and requested action of a servant before returning to the room and lighting several more candles.

“Out of curiosity, what about my appearance suggested I needed a healer?” Jeremy had put his head in his hands.

“You look like death.” Burnie sounded slightly amused despite himself.

“I see.” Jeremy focused more on attempting to control the feeling. It was taking most of his energy.

The gentle hands on his shoulders were an indication that a healer had arrived; the spreading coolness radiating through his torso out to his extremities indicated that they were attempting a healing. The feeling isolated him from all other sensations for a moment. He could hear something that began to make more sense, like swimming towards the surface from deep under water.

“…there’s really not much more I can do; no wound to heal, no real explanation for the seeming blood loss or the source of the pain, Your Majesty.” The voice was more masculine.

“Thank you, Master Ellis.” Burnie sounded worried.

Jeremy came to the realization that he was laying down. Opening his eyes, he saw that the healer, Adam Ellis, was facing away with Burnie. The man had healed Jeremy before, though for a far simpler injury.

“I’ll be honest, I’m surprised he was still conscious when I arrived. If he wakes, he needs rest.” The tall bearded man turned around. “You’re awake. You need to sleep.”

Jeremy closed his eyes in response.

.

.

.

“What do you mean _you had to send for a healer for him,_ Your Majesty?” Sir Geoffrey, Geoff to friends, Duke of Ram’s Peak, was incredulous in tone. Worry showed in his face.

“I told you, Geoff! The servants told Matt, who told me, and I’m here to tell you. The poor lad’s been wandering like a man possessed! Loyal as he may be, whatever it is he worships- forest deity or not- probably shouldn’t be trifled with.” Burnie was sitting across from Geoff in the office reserved for Geoff and Jack. “And your Count of Hayden’s Wood needs to be reminded that if it is dangerous, it will more than likely be most dangerous to him if he really does manage to slip out and follow Jeremy.”

“Because Jeremy has managed to appease it somehow, but the rest of us have not.” Geoff sighed. “I’ll speak to Ryan. Has Matt mentioned the rumors we- Sir Gavin specifically- have picked up in the city?”

“No, possibly not. What is it?” Burnie leaned forwards.

“Gavin overheard that the Broken Mirror- that shifty assassin group? That they’re in the area for some reason. Rumor has it that a shady trading caravan rolled in including two men with the BM tattoo on their wrists.” Geoff sighed. “Problem is, only nobles can afford their prices, and I haven’t actually seen or heard of anyone treading poorly lately.”

“Interesting. Matt usually knows about that sort of thing more swiftly than anyone else.” Burnie stood. “I’ll be off then; best sit your people down and express why they probably shouldn’t be chasing after Sir Jeremy.”

“Aye, Your Majesty.” Geoff stood and bowed as Burnie left the room.

Stepping towards the door Geoff caught the attention of a young runner that was nearby.

“Could you fetch Sir Jack of Warden wall, Sir Ryan of Hayden’s Wood, Sir Michael of Kelowna Hold, and Sir Gavin of Kingscove and bring them here, please?”

The runner repeated the orders, then took off. Sitting back in the office, Geoff considered the situation. Jeremy was probably in the most danger left unchecked, but any who would follow him to where he’d been going might face more danger than intended. Jack was not one to _want_ to face anything quite that unknown; he was grounded in his beliefs and intent on stability.  Michael would want the challenge but would also believe that Jeremy could deal with whatever came himself. Gavin was far more interested in court intrigue than chasing someone down in a storm. And Ryan… Ryan was one who would pursue because of suspicion and interest.

He might have to pursue himself.

The group had entered, including Trevor, who seemed to never be away from Ryan unless Ryan sent him elsewhere.

“What’ve you called a meeting for, Your Grace?” Michael spoke first.

“You all might have noticed the absence of our greenest member. Our King has informed me that Sir Jeremy had severe need of a healer this afternoon and believes it might have something to do with his excursions. This is the point where I say that not a single one of you is allowed to pursue; if it is that dangerous to him and he’s managed to _appease_ it, it will most likely kill any one of us.” Geoff’s tone was harsh.

“Are we speaking of the same man who met me in the training hall this morning? He seemed fine.” Michael looked a bit disturbed.

“He did look a bit pale, though I had assumed it was the exhaustion from the ride.” The knight who spoke was Gavin; his voice heavily accented with the inflections unique to his home.

Jack glanced over at the door; someone had knocked.

Geoff nodded to Trevor, who pulled open the door for the newcomer.

“Oh my, I didn’t realize I’d be intruding. Sir Geoffrey, is now a bad time? I have a reasonably urgent job for your group.” Matt, here on business, but dressed in his orange and gray.

“What is it? I think I’d made my point already here. What need have you of a team of knights, Spymaster?” Geoff looked concerned; Matt rarely looked stressed about what he’d learned, often feeling it a game.

“It’s come to my attention that in the last week alone, three villages between here and White Tower have come under attack; of the survivor’s accounts, the reports have been wild, ranging from bears to werewolves to regular bandit raids.” Matt sounded serious.

“Your Grace?” Ryan spoke, receiving a nod he continued his question. “Are werewolves not… just a myth? I’ve never met any who’ve seen one.”

“Regardless as to the truth of the accounts, we need to ensure the safety of the routes to those villages and the people within. General Lindsay is sending a regiment to trail you, but you need to move swiftly.”

“We’ll deal with the situation.” Geoff paused, “But Sir Matt if I could ask a favour in return?”

“If it is in regards to Sir Jeremy, I can have him sent after you once he is fit to do so.”

“Yes, thank you.”

.

.

.

Three days into their ride brought them to the ruins of a village known as Shallow Wells. Sent to search for survivors, Michael and Gavin paired up in their walks through the site. The frozen ground and recent snowfalls had covered many of the bodies; they were checking inside buildings. They’d made reasonably quick work of it. There wasn’t much to find here.

“Either they were raided for just livestock or the raiders just wanted to kill. Too many things of value left behind, too many dead.” Gavin’s tone was solemn.

“They didn’t even take the livestock- I saw cattle behind a few of the buildings.” Michael was baffled. This place was eerie.

Re-entering the town square, they met Ryan and Trevor, who were checking some of the fallen.

“No one alive, no valuables stolen.” Michael nodded at Ryan.

“Aye, what strikes me odd is that all the wounds appear to be from the same style of crossbow bolt.” Ryan frowned. “Or a blade.”

“What’ve you found? Any survivors?” Jack and Geoff were approaching, empty handed.

“No, and no valuables stolen. Whatever did this just wanted to kill.” Michael was disgusted. Shifting his bearskin cloak he stood. “Who’s that?”

The stranger approached, eyes wide.

“Who’re you, stranger?” Geoff placed a hand on his sword, though the stranger looked to be unarmed.

“My… My name’s Jon. I passed through here a week ago, and I was returning to bring some meats but I saw your horses and the King’s banner, Sir.” Jon looked like he wanted to be sick.

“You were here a week ago?” Jack raised his eyebrow.

“A little over a week now, Sir. They said they were hosting a group that called themselves The Order, and had need of more meats, so they asked if I could go out to my caravan to return with more.”

“You’re with a Caravan?” Ryan had stood and walked over.

“I was, but when I caught up to them, they were dead.” Jon looked uncomfortable but sounded matter of fact.

“What was this about something called The Order?” Geoff.

As Jon described them Michael glanced around at the dead that Trevor and Ryan had uncovered.

“None of the dead match that description, but it would explain the matching weaponry.” Michael spoke up. “Where are your weapons, Jon?”

“With my horse, Sir.” Jon seemed to be openly staring at Michael at this point.

“Is something bothering you?” Michael walked back over.

“No Sir.” Jon looked at Michael and Michael realized the problem.

“You’ve never seen a dragonborn before, have you?” Michael’s tone was dry.

“Is… Is that why you have…?”

“Scales in patches, weird eyes, teeth. Yes.” Michael patted Jon on the shoulder. “Let’s go back outside the wall and you can tell me all about this Order you mentioned.”

“I don’t know a whole lot about them, really.” Jon was now leaning against the wall, watching the forest. “The headman said that they showed up asking to stay at the inn for a few days, said they claimed to be hunting wolves or something. Also said they seemed crazy.”

“Any idea why they seemed crazy?” Michael was beginning to suspect that they’d slaughtered the town.

“One of them did accuse me of being a werewolf on my way out of the village, but I would think they would have treated their hosts better than that.” Jon shook his head.

“I wonder where they headed. Are you a mercenary or looking for work, if you don’t have a caravan to run for anymore?” Michael had decided there was something likeable about the longhaired man.

“Haven’t decided yet. Work would be nice.” Jon sighed. “Does seem like I don’t hold jobs well, though.”

“Well we could use an extra set of eyes with us. I’ll talk to our Commander.” Michael glanced up as the others wandered out of the town. “Your Grace?”

“Yes?” Geoff walked over.

“Jon here seems like a good pair of eyes to keep around, no?”

“Why not.” Geoff gestured for everyone to mount up and they were off.

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.

.

Jeremy had hurried to be ready to pursue his companions the afternoon following their departure. He knew the route quite well. In fact, the first village, Shallow Well, was one he stopped at often.

He figured he was about a day’s ride behind them and was proven correctly on his third day out when he finally caught up to them, just a mile past Shallow Well.

“Hullo!” He called forwards once he was within earshot; the group paused at his approach.

“Jeremy! Good to see you up.” Geoff was standing in his saddle. “Meet Jon, our additional companion and only surviving witness by virtue of being absent at the time of the attacks. Someone’ll fill you in.”

Another four days of riding brought them through two other sights that were decimated in similar ways; all dead, no missing valuables.

Over a campfire while they were on watch together, Ryan finally spoke to Jeremy; it was the first time he’d spoken since Jeremy had caught up.

“I can’t believe they would just. Slaughter the children like that.” Ryan looked gaunt in the firelight.

“It’s repulsive.” Jeremy commented.

Nearly half an hour passed before Ryan spoke again.

“Jeremy, I have a question.”

“What is it?” Jeremy was wary.

“When was the last time you heard from anyone at Northwatch?” Ryan’s tone was matter of fact.

“The last letter I received was dated a month prior to today, if that’s what you mean.”

“When was the last time you went home?” Ryan’s tone shifted to wistful.

“Nearly a year ago, now. Last I was home was a week after the Nameless Day.” Jeremy sighed. “I should go home. Or bring my Wife down here soon.”

“…. You’re _Married?”_ Ryan raised both eyebrows.

“Yeah. Because I was the younger son, I could marry for love instead of politics.” Jeremy grinned at the fire. “I really do need to go home.”

A few moments of silence passed between them as the fire crackled.

Jon stirred and rolled over, before moving to stand. “My Lord? Something’s wrong.”

“How do you mean that, Jon?” Ryan stood, prodding the others awake.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about something.” Jon looked around.

“Ho there! You three…there’s more than three of you.” A man had approached out of the trees.

“State your business.” Ryan stared the man down.

“I’m looking for someone; a lone rider. He slaughtered the group I rode with, horses and all.”

“And your name?”

“Flanagan.”

Jon visibly tensed.

“Well, we might be able to help you. We’re Knights of the kingdom. What did you call your riding group?”

“The Order.”

“Is that so?” Ryan glanced over at Jon. “What did you think that lone rider looked like?”

“He was a werewolf! With his yellow eyes and teeth.”

“Son, werewolves aren’t real.” Michael stood. “Are you sure he wasn’t a Dragonborn, like me?”

“Absolutely. You’re not covered in fur, sir.”

“Alright. And the villages of the area?”

Flanagan froze for a second, then locked eyes on Jon. “YOU!!”

His crossbow swung up and he moved to fire, but discovered the shocking power of Michael’s sword. “Next time it’ll be you that’s cut in half.”

“How many of your Order are still alive.” Geoff spoke, the question taking more of a statement’s tone.

“None but me, _Sir_.” He spat the word.

“Well, we’ll haul him to Rivers and the magistrate there. That’s what, a day’s ride?” Geoff glanced at one of the others. They’d surrounded Flanagan. “Once we drop him and testify, we’ll head back to the palace.”

.

.

.

As far as Burnie knew, the group sent to investigate the village slaughters had been out for a fortnight. He was writing a letter, though it read more like a will at this point.

“Miles, can you fetch Duke Gustavo for me? I need his opinion.” Burnie glanced up. “Are you okay, Miles?”

What had prompted the question was the completely blank stare on Miles’ face.

Blinking, Miles seemed to realize Burnie had said something.

“So sorry Your Majesty, was there something you needed? Fetch the Duke of Rimfire?” Miles’ tone was... off.

“Yes, please.” Burnie stood, resting his hand against the table. Miles moved to leave as Burnie turned around to face the shuttered window. He half muttered under his breath, “Miles, what’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing at all, _Majesty.”_

The sudden pain that blossomed in his chest was mirrored by the crimson flower that bloomed on his white shirt as something sharp pierced his heart. He tried to gasp, but choked instead. He felt the shutters give way and was treated to a momentary view of his soon to be several floor drop.

_“Broken Mirror sends it’s regards,”_ Miles hissed.

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.

.

Ramsey’s group had arrived back at the palace, and while it seemed oddly quiet, it was also pre-dawn. Though they could tell from the demeanor of the staff that something was wrong, nothing was said. They moved through the motions of cleaning their horses and stabling them before returning to their various rooms to drop off things. Almost immediately they were requested by servants to return to Geoff’s office.

“Good morning, Gentlemen.” Lindsay was standing behind Geoff’s desk, her voice hushed. Lady Mica was also present. They looked like they hadn’t slept in a week.

“General what’s wrong? The servants wouldn’t say.” Geoff was visibly shaken; obviously, it was bad but how bad could it be?

“There’s no easy way to say this. King Michael, rest his soul, was murdered in cold blood by his manservant two days ago. We’ve yet to actually find Miles Luna.”

Instantaneously and simultaneously everybody in the room made the Sign for Omnos.

“His body lays on the altar in the Chapel as the priests prepare him to be entombed.” Lindsay’s voice was cold. “He was stabbed in the back and shoved out the window.”

“He had yet to name an Heir, though.” Jack’s eyes were wide. “That means Matt must take the Throne, then?”

“Indeed it does.” Lindsay sighed. “Geoff, you’re needed in the war room. Matt’s requested that the rest of you return to your Holds, including you, Mica.”

“Why?” Jack stared openly at her. “Are we not needed here?”

“He worries that someone may have assassinated more outlying Nobles if our King was murdered.” Mica sounded harsh. “But take these. When they glow blue, we need you to return here. Adam Ellis holds the master stone for it.”

The group nodded before departing.

.

.

.

Jeremy ended up in the stables at the same time as Ryan, despite his intentions to find Michael.

“Jeremy, I have a question.” Ryan’s tone was sharp as Jeremy turned to pretend to busy himself with his horse.

“Hmm?” Jeremy didn’t turn to face. The news was not sitting well with him and the possibility of being pressed for answers was not something he wanted to deal with.

“I have a question for you.” Ryan stepped closer, trying to get Jeremy’s attention.

“What.” Jeremy’s tone fell flat.

“I need help with something; Once you’ve spent some time at home, can you come to Hayden’s Wood? It’s important.” Ryan paused as Jeremy looked at him; the narrowed eyes and set jaw were an uncommon expression on his friend’s face. “I don’t mean to upset you; I’ll stop pressing about your worship, too, Jeremy. We just worry about you. But I really do need your help.”

“What do you need my help with, Ryan?” Jeremy tried to soften his expression. He was tired of the run around and gossip of court, but still willing to help if need be.

“I’ll explain if you choose to come help me, okay? It’s a lot of information to just leave out here.”

“Fine.” Jeremy sighed. “If we aren’t called back here before then, I will do my best to come help.”

Ryan’s departure left Jeremy in a few brief moments of silence before Michael arrived with Jon.

“Hello,” Jeremy led his horse out to join the others before swinging up into the saddle as they did.

“Hopefully we don’t encounter another blizzard. The ride is nearly a week without one.” Michael grinned a toothy, mischievous smile. “But hopefully it’s not a dull ride.”

“You say that like you want a fight, Sir.” Jon glanced over, eyes wide.

“Not everyone likes a quiet ride, Jon.” Michael said it as Jeremy shook his head. The gates were opened to allow the trio to depart.

Once they reached the far edge of the city they moved from a walking pace to a trot, though on two warhorses it sounded more impressive than it was. They’d rode for close to half a day when Jon chose to speak.

“Sir, why do you ride a gelding?” Jon was looking at Jeremy’s Booker; the large courser was a blue roan who seemed to match Jeremy in easy going temperament.

“Both of us do, actually.” Jeremy glanced ahead at Michael’s horse. “Dreygon there doesn’t act like one, but he is.”

“But why?” Jon himself rode a mare; an almost delicate looking, palomino colored creature.

“Because we both learned from the mistakes of the ones who rode their stallions into battle against mares. You ride a stallion, and they decide to break formation to chase a mare? You get cut to pieces.” Jeremy grinned. It wasn’t a friendly grin.

“That makes a lot of sense actually.” Jon patted his Bella on the neck. “Do you know what Sir Michael’s necklace is made of? It looked a lot like _teeth.”_

“It is teeth, Jon. Michael wears a dragon- and bear-tooth necklace.” Jeremy realized that Jon was either very preoccupied with something or just a bit slow on the uptake of things.

“Oh. That does make sense then. Did you hear that?” They’d reached the first great crossroads, half a day north of the city. The roads were deserted.

“Michael?” Jeremy gestured for him to come back to them as they brought their horses to a stop. “did you hear something?”

Jon glanced around again. Michael nodded instead of speaking; it sounded like there was something _in pain._

“Is someone there?” Michael called towards the source of the sound; it wasn’t quite dusk yet, so he hoped it wasn’t a nocturnal beastie looking to tear their throats out.

An arrow sailed out of the trees and impacted in Jon’s shoulder, dropping him from his horse.

Michael yelled something and jumped down as the archer stepped out of the trees, whining hound at his heels.

“I won’ hesitate to shoot you either. One of you’ns is a beastie and I’m not lettin’ ‘im past.” The man was grizzled and spoke with the broad vowels and rolled r’s that was common to this area, though the missing teeth made it harder to understand.

“You’re threatening Knights, Freeman.” Michael’s voice had dipped to a lower tone.

“They don’t knight beasties like you! Yer a monster, not a man.” The man spoke as Jeremy was watching the dog walk over, unnoticed by Michael, to sniff at Jon. Jon reached up and patted the hound, which seemed to decide now was a good time to run.

Jeremy followed it’s path and noticed the much bigger problem approaching.

“Michael, Help Jon back a-horse we need to move.” Jeremy moved his horse around to put himself between the threat and the others. The dog was trying to fight it, but it got swatted away to lay motionless at the base of a tree.

“Shuddup, you ain’t fleein’ like a coward.” The man spat at Michael, leveling to take aim at Jon again. “That one ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Michael sighed. “Maybe don’t shoot the lad. Some of us have work to do.”

“Michael…” Jeremy was not happy that he was currently staring down the more dangerous threat.

Michael glanced up and saw the threat. Eyes widening, he turned back to look at the grizzled man who lost his very human appearance in favor of a very dead appearance. A Lich.

“You don’t like fire, do you?” Michael smirked before inhaling sharply and leaning forward to scream, engulfing the lich in flame.

He pulled his sword, leaping around his somehow un-perturbed gelding to look up at the hellish beast Jeremy was just staring down. Sarcastically, Jeremy said, “I don’t like your face.”

“Rude.” Michael took on a battle stance.

Jon’s horse bumped into Michael’s, startling both into a run past the beast.

“Did my horse just bolt?” Michael sidled along, keeping the beast’s attention on him.

Jeremy glanced back and saw Jon roll to his knees. “Uh…”

His own horse seemed to take notice and started to move away as well.

A scream that pitched upwards into a howl startled the hell beast back as Michael leapt forwards to strike. The beast seemed to think twice about attacking before running off into the trees, pursued by what at first glance could’ve been a bear.

“What just happened.” Michael’s eyes were wide as he glanced back, putting two and two together.

“We should go get your horse.” Jeremy’s tone was awed.

“Yeah we should. If Jon turns up again, I have words for him.”

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.

.

Ryan and Trevor had reached the pass below Mage’s Fall in their journey before they saw anyone else on the road. Mica had left them half a day earlier, to ascend the pass to her home that they now rode in the shadow of. The men that approached them were dressed roughly, and obviously certain that their sheer numbers would overtake Ryan and Trevor.

Oh, what a foolish mistake.

Trevor grinned as the first moved towards him, obviously assuming the smaller man was a smaller threat. The knives that left his palms and buried themselves in two throats were swiftly followed by a drawn sword and decapitation of a third assailant, instantly proving them wrong. Ryan stood in his saddle, his sword in his right hand. An attacker leapt forwards and found the sword buried in his chest.  Eyes widening with shock as death took him.

A violent, purple-black glow seeped out of the wound as the corpse stumbled back.  The two Trevor had dropped with knives dragged themselves to their feet, clawing at the other attackers whose jeers turned to screams of terror. With each that fell, the purple-black seeped into their corpses, raising them to fight their former comrades.

The fight took a matter of minutes, leaving fifteen dead and no escapes. As the threat was gone, the corpses fell to ashen piles on the ground. Trevor dismounted, collecting his knives.

“You’ve _got_ to get over that habit of decapitation. They aren’t as useful without heads.” Ryan grinned over at his apprentice.

“Old habits die hard, I’ve found.” Trevor grinned back.

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.

.

The Inn they stopped at was calm and nearly empty as they requested their horses be stabled and rooms for themselves.  They’d been in the stables for about twenty minutes when someone stumbled in, wrapped in a cloak and assisted by a stable hand.

“Jon?” Michael’s eyebrows shot up. He looked like a mess.

“Oh. Hi.” Jon looked a little wild, but seemed to notice the presence of Bella. “You brought Bella with you!”

“We figured you’d catch up. Let’s get you inside so we can talk.”

The two knights guided their bewildered friend into the room Michael was renting for the night, sitting him down on a cot that had been laid out for him. Jeremy had brought a bag of alchemical ingredients and borrowed a small iron pot from the kitchen, which now sat over the fire in the hearth.

“Is there any alchemy ingredient you _can’t_ have, Jon? I don’t want to make you sick by mixing something in that would cause more harm than good.” Jeremy was cross-legged with a folding board holding a mortar and pestle resting on one knee.

“The obvious sounding ones, like wolvesbane.” Jon sounded _awful._

“Are you okay, Jon? I asked them to bring some food up for you.” Michael sat on the edge of the bed to face the other man.

“Why didn’t you just, write me off for dead?” Jon’s expression was intense.

“It was a bit obvious that you weren’t when we didn’t find a body, Jon.”

“You’re not planning to publicly execute me or something, are you?”

“Jon, I said I needed a steward and to be quite honest it would be hypocritical of me to have you executed for being something other than human. You’re a good pair of hands and I need all the help I can get.” Michael rolled his eyes. “Also, I’ve been riding with you for two weeks and to be completely honest, you need Kelowna as much as Kelowna needs you.”

Jon nodded slowly, accepting a steaming mug of something from Jeremy.

“Don’t smell it, just drink it all.” Jeremy’s grin was wicked. Michael made a face.

Jon paused, then downed the concoction. “Is it supposed to be tingly? It tastes awful too.”

“Yeah, it’s a tingly kind of healing potion.”

A few more minutes of casual conversation passed before Jeremy retired to his rooms.

The next few days saw a quiet, calm winter ride that led them towards the northern border, reaching a point where the road forked. One path was to Northwatch, the other to Kelowna Hold.

Jon and Michael had taken the path to Kelowna about three hours earlier. Jeremy was now on the quiet, lonely ride through the mountainous forests to his home. He wasn’t sure what to expect when he arrived, to be quite honest.

The fortress that loomed ahead, his childhood home. It’s foreboding walls had never felt so friendly as when he approached from such a time away. He would get to see Kat.

A happy grin split his face for the first time in a long while.

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.

.

 “Now Trevor; concentrate the power and your will _together_ to bind the corpse.” Ryan paused. They’d been home about two days. “Good. Now _command_ it. It’s a force of will.”

The body that currently glowed a sickly black-green rose off the altar much like it’d been lifted by an impossible force. Now standing, it faced Trevor. Then, it rather calmly stepped down from the altar and picked up a skull.

“Good!! Now let it go.”

Trevor exhaled, relaxing his mental grip on the corpse allowing the power to return to him gently. The corpse fell to ash, ceasing to glow as it settled.

“I see what you mean about fresher corpses being far harder to command.” Trevor’s face looked gaunt; like the energy for the spell had taken something out of him.

“It does get easier with practice, though.” Ryan grinned. Trevor had impressed him today by proving mastery of a spell three levels higher than his technical rank.

“My Lord, I have a question.” Trevor had stooped to pick up some of the bones; particularly, a skull with odd teeth. “Rather, I have a theory.”

“Go on,” Ryan walked over and sat on the edge of the altar; really it was just a stone slab in an isolated room far off from any of the servants.

“I don’t think Jeremy worships a deity or god at all.” He held the skull up at eye level. “In fact, if my dreams are to be trusted, he’s not bringing offerings to appease it. It doesn’t need offerings, but it needs his blood. I think he’s been ensnared more than anything, and I am concerned that we are losing Sir Jeremy in favor of a shell.”

“You think a vampire?” Ryan grinned. “Have you done any research on the creatures? I have a few books that would prove your theory… less correct. It might be a Deity that intends any who See to misinterpret the information as such. It is a good theory, though.”

“Where might I find these tomes? I do find my curiosity piqued.” Trevor set the skull down as Ryan gestured for him to follow.

They were settled in Ryan’s private study when his Steward, a man by the name of Andrew Blanchard, stepped in. He passed Ryan a letter, stating that a courier had been through shortly before.

“Interesting. Thank you, Andrew.” Ryan read over the letter a few more times before tossing it on the fire following Andrew’s departure. “Trevor, I need you to fetch something.”

“The way you say that sounds like it will require some level of finesse, Sir.”

“I need you to find the Broken Mirror and offer them sanctuary here.”

“I see.” Trevor stood, nodding. “And where might I find them?”

“The capital. Take one of the remounts, wear no colors, hide your face. Get it done. I want them here before Jeremy’s arrival.”

“Aye.” Trevor grinned.

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.

“How’ve you been, Miles?” The dark haired, bearded man had pulled a chair up across from him in the darker corner of a sketchy looking tavern. The ambient conversation was primarily just drunken misery.

“He never thinks to warn us before he sets it off, does he?” His headache had been around for close to three weeks at this point. “I’d like to have words with him but I don’t want to have words with him.”

“You know Gray does it that way so you absolutely can’t expose yourself, though.”

“I know, Kyle. The headache is a bit of a bitch, though.”

“C’mon, we’ve got places to be.”

The two black clad assassins stood, leaving the bar through the back door. They’d reached the building they were working out of, entering through the back and heading down the stairs to the poorly-lit basement before they encountered their boss.

“Ah, you two are here. Good!” For a leader of an assassin ring, Gray was all smiles. “Come, come we have things to do.”

“We have new jobs?” Miles raised his eyebrow. That would be quick.

“Not exactly. We’re moving! We just need the mercenary that’s being sent to come get us.”

“A mercenary. Gray that’s a terrible idea.” Kyle rolled his eyes.

“He’s only a former mercenary. I think you knew him, Kyle.” Gray grinned again. “He’s working for a lord down south, and he’s offering us sanctuary there at the request of our most recent employer.”

“Trevor Collins?” Kyle’s expression turned confused. “Gray, last I checked he has no memory of my existence.”

“That is the point, actually.” Gray grinned. “He’s good at keeping his mouth shut even without spells. None know why he serves the Count, but yet he does.”

“I assume that means now is the time to gather our things.” Miles inquired.

An hour or so had passed before Gray stepped out long enough to return with the casually dressed Trevor. The four then proceeded to leave the city, oddly unperturbed by surrounding individuals and guards.

“Master Haddock, is there a particular reason no one seems to have noticed our departure?” Trevor’s curiosity finally got to him as they passed the first way house on the great road south.

“Black Mirror, my friend.” Gray smirked. “I assume you know your mage classifications, correct?”

“Indeed.” Trevor nodded as he continued to watch the road.

“Trevor, is there a particular reason we’re traveling at such a, _rapid,_ pace? It seems odd.”

“Considering I myself am not supposed to be near the capital and that My Lord is expecting a guest that he wants you in residence prior to the arrival of, it seems more pertinent.”

“I see. Might I enquire the identity of this guest?”

“Sir Jeremy, younger son of Northwatch.”

Miles paled considerably at the name, which caught Gray’s attention. The two fell back a ways from Trevor and Kyle, who continued casual conversation.

“What concerns you about Sir Jeremy?” Gray’s voice was quiet. He knew to listen to what concerned his two accomplices, and that a _name_ was enough to set Miles on edge was a strong indication that something was wrong.

“From my time at the Palace, it seems Sir Jeremy takes time to worship something, but whatever it is seems to both cause him great pain and great strength; His armor bears disturbingly strong enchantment done in a way that without something to detect it, one wouldn’t notice at all. He also bears a pendant with a strange red stone that… _Pulses._ Like a heartbeat.”

“And yet the lad is not a mage.” Gray patted his horse’s neck; the two moved forwards again to rejoin the group.

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.

Jeremy had taken the liberty of spending two weeks at home. He’d been the first to tell anyone at Northwatch that their King was Dead. That conversation had been exhausting.

It was just shortly after dawn; he’d said his goodbyes to his wife, stating that when he was next requested at the capital he’d send for her as well. For now, this was still home.

Settling into his armor again, he felt the enchantments way in, much like a second skin. His Booker seemed eager for the ride; picking up to an easy trot let them both enjoy the cold winter air. He tugged at the tattered cloak he wore; once white, now dusty and road weary.

Hopefully it would be a swift ride.

Days long rides like this were what he enjoyed about being a knight. More often than not, he could travel without fear. He’d passed through a village and reached noon on the third day before he saw another traveler.

The traveler rode towards him, deviating from the standard edges when meeting others on the road. Jeremy moved his horse only to be blocked by the other rider.

“Is something wrong?” Jeremy inquired.

Instead of responding, the traveler lunged across the distance between them, tearing Jeremy from the saddle. Jeremy saw the enemy knife as he and the traveler plummeted to the ground, horses backing away. The impact was solid and awkward; instead of allowing his assailant freedom to move, Jeremy grabbed at the base of the man’s skull. He could feel the attacker scrabbling for a chink in his armor.

He closed his grip on their throat, feeling skin tear and blood pour down his hand, dripping onto his face.

He felt the body go limp before pushing it off and moving to stand. He rolled to his knees first, before registering sharp and sudden pain.

The knife was deep in his side. Unthinking, he reached down, tearing it back out. He felt the enchantments on the armor flare up in response. He dropped the knife beside the corpse and dragged himself over to Booker, who had come to investigate. He managed to pull himself to a standing position, leaning heavily on Booker as he felt around in one of the saddlebags. The pendant was pulsing heavily; he could feel the heat. Finding the potion he was looking for, he downed it. It was stronger than he would ever give to someone else, but he’d used potions so many times that he’d grown quite resistant. Nonetheless, he felt it work nearly instantaneously, closing the wound. He dragged himself into his saddle, looking around. The pendant was still hot against his skin.

He kicked his horse to a canter to hurry on; he rode on until he couldn’t, stopping sometime near midnight in a copse of trees. He set a fire. Pealing his gauntlets off, he looked at his hands. He could _still_ feel his attacker’s pulse.

_What have I done?_

He stood, tending to Booker’s needs before letting the gelding rest. Watching the fire for a while, he registered that he was _being watched._

Looking around, he relaxed.

“Patron, have you need of me?” His voice was barely audible but calm.

“Yes, young one.” Their voice was equally calm, though oddly compelling. “Someone attacked you today. There’s blood on your cloak.”

“I didn’t feel the knife…” He stepped around the fire to face them, then knelt.

“I have some teachings for you. Your potions healed you well.” They rested a cool hand against his face.

“I could feel their pulse… I… _I can still feel their pulse._ I… tore their throat with my hand.” His voice took on a tone that sounded ashamed.

“You _survived._ Young one, that is what we do.”

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.

Reaching Hayden’s Wood with the three Broken Mirror members proved an uneventful ride. While they were given effectively a wing of the castle- on the far side of the structure from the area Trevor trained under Ryan in- They took up almost no space. They’d been back a week when he returned to the room he’d been practicing in before his errand; finding Ryan, he arched an eyebrow.

“Hello Trevor.”

“I had assumed I would be practicing before my next lesson.”

“No, I need you to try something a bit more direct.” Ryan grinned, a sadistic, bright, toothy smile.

“Oh?”

“Yes, we have someone who was sent to spy, and I found them. I want you to try raising them.”

“That man isn’t dead yet.”

“Precisely.”

“Alright then.” Trevor raised his eyebrows.

Trevor stepped forwards, looking down at the man on the altar. He considered the methods, then placed his hand against the man’s chest.

First focusing, he watched the man’s face for any signs that his magic was taking hold.

The scream of absolute agony that left the man was impressive, but not something Trevor hadn’t heard. Trevor could feel the man’s pulse accelerate against his hand, but he could feel the man’s resolve weakening.

_Mine._ _Mine now._

The man’s screams of agony cut off sharply as his heart ceased to beat. He rose off the altar, bowing to Trevor and then to Ryan.

“I must admit I didn’t think that would work.” Ryan was pretty surprised. “I’ve never tried it. You also raised every skeleton in the room as a side effect, so that’s pretty impressive.”

Trevor looked around. Ryan wasn’t kidding.

“You can release them if you want.”

Trevor nodded, letting go of the power he held over them, watching them dissolve into ash. The color wasn’t a sickly green any more, but a true red.

“Power only changes color when you achieve something that would take you to that rank, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. You’ve effectively mastered it, Trevor. You may want to practice as much as possible though.” Ryan grinned. “Now I want to see if I can manage the same maneuver on some living bastard.”

“I think his heart exploded in his chest.”

“Even better.”

The two left the room and promptly ran into Gray, who had been wandering.

“Master Haddock, was there something you needed?” Ryan’s tone was the gracious but not kind tone that one adopted when someone was where they were not supposed to be.

“I heard screams, it piqued my interest.” Gray’s tone was dangerous.

“And you were approaching because?”

“Perhaps I wished to know what the fair Lord here had implemented as torture to elicit such screams?”

“Trevor?” Ryan arched an eyebrow at the younger man, who nodded before disappearing down the hallway. “Please, come in.”

Gray regarded his surroundings quite casually. “Might I inquire as to the ash?”

“You’ll see.”

Trevor entered, hauling a man who had obviously been in the dungeons for a few months by the arm.

“His crimes?”

“Murder, My Lord.” Trevor grinned back.

Ryan gripped the man by the throat almost casually. Regarded him with uncaring eyes as the man felt his fate coming for him.

The screams were impressive but cut very short.

“You’re…a _Necromancer_.” Gray’s eyes had gone wide.

“Both of us are, yes.”

“I see.”

“You’re a mage yourself, Master Haddock.” Trevor was currently looking at a carving on one of the walls, remembering the discussion from their ride. “If I hazard a guess, you’re Black Mirror.”

“I am.” Gray sighed. “I won’t pry further. To be honest, I had thought it was an impressive torture technique, not a raising.”

“Glad that clears things up.” Ryan’s cheerful tone didn’t match the gruesome experience. Gray noticed the body fall to ash and shuddered.

Gray indicated departure was intended and Ryan nodded permission.

“My lord, _could_ you raise someone from ash?” Trevor looked at the mess on the floor.

“Never tried that.” Ryan grinned, extending a hand that flared with color.

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.

He was an hour’s ride from Hayden’s Wood, watching the trees as he approached. The people in the last village looked like they lived with the shadow of death on their doorsteps.

There was almost no snow here; too close to the coast and too far south.  Jeremy sighed. He didn’t want Ryan’s prying; whatever he needed help with was obviously important but he knew Ryan wouldn’t stop.

The gates were opened for him, a stable hand tended to his horse. He entered; found the great hall where Ryan stood talking to Trevor. Those two seemed far too friendly to be a standard bearer and a lord.

Both noticed his approach; Ryan walked to meet him halfway.

“Sir Ryan.” Jeremy’s expression was like steel.

“Sir Jeremy! I’m glad to see you’ve arrived safely!” Ryan went to step closer, offering a hand.

“What need did you have of me?” Jeremy didn’t really want to dance around. He didn’t want to be here. The whole place felt like _death._

“Jeremy, your cloak has _blood_ on it. What’s happened?” Ryan’s expression shifted to concern.

“Someone took exception to me and forgot that it is unwise to grapple with me.” Jeremy flashed a grin. “What did you need my help with? You said that you needed my help with something.”

“I…” Ryan paused, “I needed your assistance with a potion; one of my servants had fallen ill but we assumed the healer would be able to keep him alive until your arrival. This was not the case.”

“If I may be blunt?” Jeremy’s expression was hard. “This whole castle smells like death, Sir Ryan.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

“It does. I don’t know why. Perhaps more of your people are ill than you thought.” Jeremy didn’t want to play healer. Not right now. There was too much at stake.

“Perhaps you’re right. I’ll ask the healers if they know of any illness.” Ryan’s eyes seemed to be attempting to pierce Jeremy.

“Was that really what you asked me to ride down here for?” Jeremy was not impressed.

“No. Please, come with me.”

Jeremy followed the taller man as he turned and exited the side of the hall; they seemed to be heading towards Ryan’s study if Jeremy’s memory served him. Reaching a tower room- it was circular, lined with curving bookshelves, a desk and some chairs in the center, a hearth a quarter turn to the left from the door- Ryan indicated a chair.

“Jeremy, I wanted to discuss the situation of the kingdom with someone like-minded.” Ryan sighed, dropping the pretense of mystery in favor of a nearly exhausted tone.

“How do you mean that? Is there something more that I need to worry for?” Jeremy leaned forwards, eyeing his host. He’d realized as they’d walked up here that the scent of death seemed to follow his friend more than anything.

“I fear I may know who’s responsible for ordering the assassination of our king.” Ryan sighed. “And it’s likely that the best way to resolve it would be to eliminate them before they have time to relish in their newfound power.”

“Oh?” Jeremy leaned forwards, looking Ryan square in the eyes.

“I need to know for sure, Jeremy. Can I trust you?” Ryan stood, stepping around the desk. “Can you _be trusted_ with this information? Your worship worries me; I fear that it’s not what you say it is.”

“I have never said what I do; it is the rest of you who have indicated that I worship something.” Jeremy raised an eyebrow. “I have a patron; their only request was I visit often in exchange for some alchemical instruction.”

“You…You don’t worship something? It’s been a misunderstanding? Why have you not corrected us before?” Ryan blinked; his expression showed genuine surprise.

“You never asked.” Jeremy shrugged. “And in some cases, it was easier to say ‘sure, I worship’ than to explain what I actually do. You know that Magecraft is not well trusted anyways.”

“True enough. You’ve let this go on for _years_ though. You never thought it a reason to indicate otherwise?” Ryan shook his head. “Regardless. That clears that up a bit.”

Silence passed between them as Jeremy declined to speak immediately. He shifted in his seat before realizing something.

“Ryan. Are you feeling ill?”

“No, why would you ask?” Ryan’s face immediately showed concern.

“The whole place smells like death, but it seems to concentrate around _you._ I would assume that had you been attending slaughters of livestock you would clean up afterwards.”

Ryan had begun to pace, like something had just occurred to him.

“I mean, you’re not entirely keen on attending slaughters, are you?” Jeremy’s tone shifted to worry. “Unless there’s a necromancer in the hold, attempting to exert control? That would explain the death.”

“Jeremy.” Ryan stopped pacing, turning to lean on the desk and face his friend. “Can I _trust you?”_

“Do _you_ need a healer? You can trust me, and if you need a healer I can help.”

“I made a mistake earlier this week.” Ryan sighed. “I tried something and it went _too well._ I fear I may have angered the Gods.”

“You’re a Necromancer?” Jeremy’s tone was flat but interested.

“Shhh…” Ryan sighed. “Yes. Purple Grave. That’s probably what you can smell on me; the last experiment went _too well.”_

“I see.” Jeremy raised his eyebrows. “Do you need anything alchemical for it?”

“No.” Ryan shook his head. “It’s not as important as fixing the mess at the capital, but the one who’s causing it is already suspicious of me, and I need you to run this to Jack; he’ll listen to you.”

“Who is it, Ryan?”

“Our new monarch may have payed people to murder our former monarch; we just… need to figure out if it was actually him, and because of his networks, it can’t be done easily. I need this to make it to Jack- it contains details and I want you two to read it together so that you’re both informed and capable of beginning to plan. I would help but my hands are tied by suspicion and a healthy amount of fear. His spies are here, Jeremy. I can’t afford to keep you here, and Trevor and I are under observations. I keep eliminating his spies as I find them but I know that this needs to go _now.”_

Ryan pulled a sealed envelope from his sash; the plaid material traditional to his family extending into his kilt.

“I’ll be sure to ride quickly.” Jeremy took the envelope and tucked it away on his person. “You have my word, Ryan.”

“Good. Best to make a hasty exit then. Wouldn’t want you pursued, though I’m sure you will be.”

Jeremy’s face split into an almost sadistic grin. “Wouldn’t that be a shame.”

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.

The crunch of snow under her horse’s hooves was a welcome sound; she was headed for Warden Wall.  It had been a quiet couple of days, seeing no others out and calmly migrating along the roads towards the eastern mountains. She could see another rider ahead, heading the opposite way.

“Ho there, traveler! Have you seen any others out?” She called forwards, once he was within earshot.

“I have, yes. And to be quite honest, you’re a fool to travel alone, miss.” He rose in his saddle, pulling his swords.

“Pardon me?” She stood in her saddle, patting her horse Shiro on the neck.

“You’re a fool. Drop your purse or I’ll be forced to… _cut it off you.”_ The man’s grin revealed crooked and missing teeth, a few blackened from years without care.

“I don’t have time for this.” Mica turned her horse and sat back down, watching the man for movement.

“Don’t you walk away from me!!” He leapt forwards, attempting to cover the distance.

“Fine.” She turned back to face him, bringing her quarterstaff off it’s holder and angling it towards him. 

The hot white lightning that split the sky before vaporizing her would be attacker was probably not expected. The other horse panicked and bolted.

“Well that was shocking.” The voice that carried over to her from a short distance belonged to a familiar face.

“Hello Sir Jeremy, what brings you down here?” Mica grinned at the other rider as he rode up to her.

“Headed to Warden Wall, actually. Hayden’s Wood had need of my assistance but now I’m headed up there.” He grinned. “Was that where you were headed?”

“It is! Do you mind if we pick up the pace? I’m worried for Sir Jack.”

“Alright, let’s go then.”

They’d been riding together for three days when they reached the outer village at Warden Wall. Jeremy seemed tired, but in reasonable humor. Mica was concerned for the state of the kingdom; had even said so. They had yet to be summoned back to the palace, which was setting her on edge.

The castle here was a fortress; the last line of defense before the north-eastern border, it was built to withstand weeks of siege.

Riding up to it’s gates, they were welcomed in for their banners alone. They reached the great hall after turning their geldings over to the stable hands for care; Mica quite casually leaning on her quarterstaff, Jeremy standing easy to make casual conversation as a runner went to find either the Steward or the Duke.

Mica was looking around from her position in the room; taking in the almost cozy atmosphere despite the fortress that enclosed it. She noted the high rafters and the guardsmen positioned on them; Jack obviously knew something was amiss about the state of the kingdom and perhaps he’d sent to Geoff or Lindsay to use similar tactics.

Jack entered from the far end of the hall; his outfit the heavy leathers and furs typical of the mountains and their people. He looked surprised to see them.

“Lady Mica, Sir Jeremy? What brings you here?” He was followed closely by two guardsmen; something must be worrying him.

“I am here because I fear that your fief may be the next target of an assassination, Your Grace.” Mica arched an eyebrow. Her statement carried weight. “Sir Jeremy brings a letter, but I do not know what the contents may be.”

Jeremy furrowed his brow; he hadn’t mentioned the letter nor any reason for his visit.

“What do you propose I do about the assassination possibility, Lady Mica?” Jack looked at the mage.

“With your permission, I would like to restore the Old Magic wards that are set in the walls, as well as lay some of my own.” Mica’s expression was intense.

“Of course. Have you need of any assistance with that?”

“Just someone to ensure I do not get lost.” She smiled.

“Kent and Larry, please guide Lady Mica.”

Both guardsmen saluted and then gestured for Mica to follow, leaving just Jeremy facing Jack.

“Is there somewhere we could speak more privately, Your Grace?”

“This way, Sir Jeremy.”

The two found their way to Jack’s study; a brightly lit, warm room cozy with heavy furs. Jack gently picked up the feline sleeping on his seat and deposited it on the rug by the hearth.

“Don’t mind Uday, Qusay, and Ellie. They’re calm.” Jack gestured for Jeremy to take a seat as he did so himself.

“This is the letter in question. Ryan sent it, but inclined that we were to read it together.” Jeremy handed it to Jack, who raised an eyebrow.

“Did he give any inclination at all as to what it was?”

“He said it was information related to the situation in the capital.” Jeremy sighed. “He also claimed his hands were tied by suspicion already.”

 Jack nodded, then read the letter to himself before passing it to Jeremy.

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.

The windows to some of the below-ground structure at Haden’s Wood illuminated the spaces with colorful, murky light tainted by stained glass. The Count walked between the pillars in the crypt-like chamber, lost in thought. It was seldom used now, though he was aiming to begin using it as a more serious laboratory. He’d forbidden all staff from coming down here years ago, citing a series of deaths as reason enough to not approach the area. He wandered around the hall, realizing that his recent _experiment_ hadn’t succumbed to the dusty fate he’d raised it from.

“Hello Edgar.” He looked up at the hulking, writhing mass of bone and tissue. It seemed that it had pulled a form from the ashes and bones of every corpse previously raised by him or Trevor. Ryan was intent on trying again with just _one_ former corpse, but it meant he’d need to kill someone to ensure it was as fresh as possible. Edgar was an abomination; a permanent, raised mass of decay.

Ryan extended a hand, patting the creature’s main skull; a longhorn bull’s. He let his power float over it, examining, learning, probing.

“I can give you wings.” Ryan realized, wide eyed. His power, glittering and black, hissed through the creature, rearranging bones and ashy tissue until it resembled a dragon more than anything.  Ryan _grinned._

The beast butted it’s skull against Ryan’s chest-gently- before turning to bash out one of the bigger windows, launching itself from the cliff side. Running forwards, he watched his creation fly off over the valley of the neighbouring kingdom.

“You better come back, Edgar.”

 Ryan watched for a bit longer before turning to walk back out of the room. His steward Andrew was standing there, with Trevor blocking the door behind him.

“Andrew, why are you down here?” Ryan raised both eyebrows.

“I-I heard breaking glass, M’lord, and…and thought you needed a hand.” Andrew was wide-eyed.

“Trevor, did I need a hand?” Ryan looked at his apprentice.

“No Sir.” Trevor smirked. Andrew was a reasonably new steward.

“Andrew, what did you see? Be honest.” Ryan’s tone was dangerous. He noted Trevor’s expression shift but figured he’d ask after he was done with this little experiment.

“I…. I believe I saw too much, M’lord.” Andrew looked gaunt with fear.

“Of course.” Ryan stepped forwards, offering a hand. Shaking, Andrew offered his own.

Ryan’s sparked with a blackish, glittery smoke-like glow that leapt from his hand to Andrew’s, racing up his arm as he went to scream, clutching at his chest before falling to his knees.

“What did you see, Andrew.”

“I saw the fruits of your labours, a dragon-like abomination, M’lord.” His voice rasped from the strain.

Ryan grinned. “What do you _feel_ , Andrew.”

“No heart beats in my chest, and I will know only pain.” He hissed. “I _must_ serve you until the day you choose to release me.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow, before rapidly clenching his fist. Andrew screamed. The echo was probably heard throughout the castle. Ryan watched the man slump forwards, dissolving to ash. He gestured sharply and the ash rose, reforming the man.

Ryan watched him flex his hands, wide eyed.

“Hello Andrew.” Ryan glanced around, noting a chest near the door. Trevor seemed to follow his gaze, hurrying over to check for anything the man could wear. “What do you know?”

“I know that I was dead mere seconds ago, and now I stand, beating heart in my flesh. I know pain, and I know that you hold the power that has brought me back.”

“Let me see your face, Andrew.” Ryan watched the man raise his head to look him in the face. There was a very faint, hollow glow where the skin was thinnest and his eyes were unnaturally black, but he was very much alive. “Can you continue to do your duties?”

“Yes, M’lord.”

“If you find there is something you can’t do- any aversions, sudden pains, what have you- I implore you to tell me.”

“Yes M’lord.”

“You’re dismissed.”

Andrew paused before Trevor handed him a long tunic from the chest, then put the garment on, bowed, and left.

“Trevor?”

“Yessir?” Trevor had been moving to leave as well, but turned to face at Ryan’s inquiry.

“What did _you_ see.”

“Your eyes, Ryan. They went… all black… when you spoke to Andrew, and stayed that way until he left.”

Ryan’s eyes widened. That was not what he was expecting to hear. “I see.”

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.

The castle situated above the waters of King’s Lake was a beautiful structure. It’s wings featured floor-to-ceiling glass windows that granted a powerful view of the lake below, sweeping around the sheltered beach and cove. It’s towers glittered in the sunlight, a pale, nearly gold stone that granted delicate carvings places to rest. The green and white banners that danced from the walls and towers accented the pale structure well.

Sir Gavin was pacing the halls of his home, watching the waters of the lake below that had granted his hold it’s name. Something didn’t feel right about what had transpired at the capital nearly two months before.

Especially holding the letter he had received just a day earlier.

An Heir had been named.

Gavin shook his head. Why not Joel or Gus? They were both better options for the throne.

He sighed. At least if King Matt managed to maintain the throne, it wouldn’t need succession for quite some time.

He shook his head; the Kingdom would see it as a foolish choice, believing too easily the façade he had crafted. It would breed Jealousy and resentment amongst the higher Nobles than him; he was only a Count, with several Dukes who should have been named first.

Unless the king was aiming to incite a civil war.

“Please prepare my horse and my bags, Steward.” He glanced up at the man, who had been awaiting orders. “I intend to ride to the capital. A small platoon should be enough to ride with me.”

“Yes, My lord.”

“Thank you, Kerry.”

Gavin returned to pondering his fate.

Given his shocking clairvoyance- which he had trained with the palace Laurels to understand better- he knew this was a bad choice. The other options- flee the country, or ignore the summons- weren’t much better.

He was riding out to the palace that had killed one of his closest friends- and the man who had ordered his death.

“Ambitious prick really couldn’t keep his hands to himself,” he muttered. Maybe he’d have to solve it in similar fashion. Or maybe he’d need to bait him into revealing himself. He’d decide on the ride. Perhaps he’d ask his sweetheart; Meg had always been a bit more conniving than one might expect. He might also inform Lady Barbara; the adopted Heiress of Rimfire oversaw the magistrates, after all. She had real power.

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.

.

Departing his own hold with the intent to speak to Ryan himself, Jack was accompanied by Mica. The countess looked regal as always in her black robes, and something about her echoed more power than usual. She was headed for the capital, and left about two days into their ride.

Jack watched his horse for signs of fidgets as they approached the castle of Hayden’s Wood a day later; the last village he’d passed through had been almost entirely a ghost town and what people he did see had eyed him with suspicion. It had set him on edge.

Entering through the gate, he passed another rider, just leaving. He paid them no mind; by his dress he’d been a courier. Leaving his horse Mercy to the stable hands, he entered the keep, encountering Trevor.

“Mister Collins, Hello!” Jack greeted. “Where might I find Sir Ryan?”

“Hello Your Grace. The Lord is currently in his study. This way.”

Jack noted that the stained glass painted Ryan’s home a myriad of colors. Each panel depicted some hero of legend, but many were ones he didn’t recognize. Perhaps he’d ask about them later. The pair made their way up a winding staircase to a circular room to find Ryan seated at his desk.

Rather, asleep at his desk.

“Sir?” Trevor inquired at him, startling the Count to wakefulness. “Sir Jack is here to see you.”

“Oh! Hello. My apologies; my research must’ve run away from me.” Ryan grinned. “Trevor, can you send for some refreshments? I’m sure Sir Jack is tired from his ride.”

“Yessir.” Trevor departed, leaving the traveler to regard his host.

“What brings you down here?” Ryan raised his eyebrows. “I don’t suppose you were traveling socially?”

“I had need of your opinion on a few things, and was growing bored of waiting around at my home.” Jack offered, a hint of suspicion to his voice.

“I’d prefer if we spoke somewhere more private, then.” Ryan seemed to be indicating that his walls might be listening.

“And where do you propose?” Jack inquired.

Ryan used a military cypher hand sign to indicate _Follow Me_ before speaking out loud. “Perhaps the fresh air of the walls will do me some good. Wouldn’t want to pass out on you again.”

To Jack’s credit, he wasn’t the least bit surprised that their path took them to the top of the spire; it was the tallest tower at Hayden’s Wood and it held a clean view of any who might attempt to enter well before they reached the door.

It also gave a clean view of the stained glass that decorated much of the castle; some patterns were even too large to be properly recognized from inside.

“Why here and not your study? Beyond the obvious reasons, like interruptions, Ryan.”

“At the request of our Monarch I’m hosting some _unsavory_ individuals who are… good at interrupting things.” Ryan grimaced. It was a weak excuse.

“From your letter you have grounds to suspect our current monarch of offing our last one, and also grounds to think that he’s aiming to do the same to you.” Jack summarized, “and I’ll make the assumption that the people he sent to you include Miles Luna.”

“Yes.” Ryan watched Jack’s face intently.

“And you haven’t imprisoned them because?” Jack’s tone was open; not the least bit threatening. He was also studying the Main Hall’s stained-glass relief intently.

“Because _I’m being watched._ I’m certain of it; I’ve caught five spies and I’m sure there are more.” Ryan shook his head.

“And the plan you mentioned, then?” Jack was realizing that the window’s first figure, a kneeling man on snow, bore a slight resemblance to someone. Maybe it was coincidence.

“I need to convince Lady Mica and probably Master Ellis to assist me.” Ryan noted Jack’s frown. “I thought you knew; I’m a mage, Jack.”

“What do you need that much power for, Ryan?” Jack had recognized that there was a second, darker clad figure in the relief; it blended in well with the rest of the dark glass.

“I’m going to resurrect our true King, Jack.”

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.

.

Alone and headed north again, Jeremy was thinking over the events of his ride south. Something still seemed odd about the attack, and he’d yet to place it. He hadn’t mentioned exacting details to any of his friends, even when they’d pressed. Now, alone on the road again he was painfully aware of his own heartbeat, to a point that had him wondering if he was falling ill.

Slowing his breathing with a meditation technique he associated with archery, he looked around. The Road was empty and it was nearing dusk. His hands resting loosely on the reins, the light breeze oddly warm for the time of year. He reached up, pushing his hood down. He could hear something in the woods to his left.

It sounded enough like footsteps and armor to concern him; he rather casually dismounted, then gave a light whistle sending Booker into the woods on their right where he knew there was a stream. Turning back to face the sounds as the wind caught his pale cloak, he spotted them. A man in dark clothing flanked by two others; weapons drawn.

He drew his axe from his shoulder as they walked forwards, still silent. The first leapt forwards, mistaking his height for an advantage. The brutal split inflicted in his forehead by Jeremy’s axe did not deter his companions; the man on Jeremy’s left took it as an opportunity to attack.

Surprising himself, Jeremy almost casually sidestepped the attack and drove his dagger into the base of the man’s neck. Facing his last assailant, he studied the man, who was staring at him intently in return.

“What warrants this? What do you want of me?” Jeremy spoke clearly and calmly. Something was _off_ about this. But what?

_“Broken Mirror sends it’s regards.”_

Jeremy jumped aside, avoiding the attack. He grabbed the man and dragged him to the ground, practically _tasting_ his heartbeat. The assassin moved to stab him; Jeremy rather bluntly broke his wrist against the ground.

“ _Why?_ Who’s paid you?” Jeremy’s tone had moved to a level of intensity that one might call insane. He watched the man’s expression shift from pain to _terror._ He could feel his own heart rate _slowing._ The assassin in his grip was visibly shaking. Jeremy registered the man was speaking.

_“Don’t Pray!! Answer me!”_ Jeremy practically hissed, increasing the pressure on his captive’s broken arm and throat. Reflexively, he tightened his grip, feeling skin tear. The spray of blood across his face signaled the assassin’s death.

Shaking slightly and feeling weirdly calm, Jeremy moved to kneel beside the man, checking him for any distinguishing marks. A tattoo on the inside of his left wrist confirmed the Broken Mirror; other than that, he carried nothing remarkable.

Standing, he checked both others as well. Nothing more than the tattoo they all bore to distinguish who they were.

_“Damnit!”_ Jeremy felt cold. He pulled his axe and knife from the two corpses before dragging them to the side of the road to lay with their companion. None of them were Miles Luna; but if he had been a Broken Mirror assassin, he could’ve given Jeremy’s appearance to the others.

But they _never_ operated without payment. As far as Jeremy knew, anyways. Licking his dry lips, he tasted the blood in his beard.

“ _Ugh.”_ Grimacing in disgust, he walked towards the stream Booker now stood beside. Patting the gelding on the neck, he moved past to kneel and rinse his face. The sudden clenching pain in his abdomen and chest startled a cry from him; it was raw, unbridled agony.

Fighting through the pain, he plunged his face into the icy water before him. Stumbling to his feet, he wavered over to Booker, rummaging saddlebags for _anything_ that might ease the pain. He pulled his gloves off to better examine what he had in his bags. Finding one of his general healing potions he downed it, then knelt near a tree to lean on, waiting for it to take effect.

The crunch of footsteps on snow alerted him to the presence of someone else, but he remained where he was, watching the way a shadow moved against the snow.

“Hey, you there! Are you alright?” The voice was light and gentle; they sounded worried but kind.

Jeremy felt a hand reach his shoulder before he looked up to look them in the face.

_“Oh.”_ They stepped back. “What’s _happened_ to you?”

Jeremy shook his head. What about his face was cause for fear? Jeremy felt his voice crack as he spoke: “Pardon me?”

“Were you attacked with those three by the road?” They looked equal parts concerned for him and afraid.

“I was attacked by those three.” Jeremy’s tone flatlined. He felt close to a faint; like all the blood had left his face.

_“Oh.”_ Jeremy glanced up again in time to see them unsling their crossbow to level it at his chest.

“Is that necessary?” He asked, trying not to sound disinterested. It was a loaded weapon aimed at his chest, after all. The pain in his abdomen was enough to dull any worry he might have had. Death might be nice.

_“Omnos!! I call upon thee!!”_

Jeremy jerked to a more upright posture in response.

_“Rest this soul! Commend him to Your Halls!”_

Was this stranger _praying_ for him?

_“Though our world has forsaken him…”_

They were! Jeremy lunged to his feet as the stranger fired.

_“…You accept him with open arms!”_

The agony that tore through his chest did not slow him, even as the stranger reloaded and fired again, point blank.

_“Omnos! Rest his soul!”_

The stranger finished the prayer, backing away from Jeremy, fear in their eyes. They fired again as he stepped forwards. The pains he felt had dulled to almost nothing, but he could _taste_ their fear as he strode towards them.

They’d made it halfway through the prayer again.

Jeremy reached them as the fourth bolt sunk into his chest. Grappling the weapon from their hands, he dragged them to the ground with him as he fell. He tasted blood and fear; his own or the strangers, he wasn’t sure. Rolling to his knees, dislodging all but one bolt from his armor- this last had pierced his torso- he whispered the last lines of the mourner’s prayer for this stranger. Hands shaking violently, he dragged the last bolt from his chest.

He had questions, sure. But with a sinking suspicion that he already knew the answers, he moved towards his horse.

He wasn’t sure how he achieved horseback, or how he’d passed the last few miles. Dismounting near a cave he remembered well, he swayed for a moment before carefully walking in.

“Patron? Are you here?” His voice was barely audible.

“Yes, Young one. You have questions?” He knelt at their feet, registering with new eyes the fangs his patron possessed.

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.

.

The hearth in the common room between the three granted to the Broken Mirror assassins was lit, illuminating the shadowy trio that sat around it. Miles, who had recovered from his headaches, was sharpening a blade. Kyle was studying the poker left by the fire. Gray stared wide eyed at the embers.

_“Well…_ That was not the expected result.” Gray spoke. He sounded hoarse.

“Is something wrong, Gray?” Miles looked up from his work with concern.

“I had assumed I had simply sent too new an assassin previously, and only one to take out our…concerning… young knight. When he turned up here, it was a bit of a surprise, but confirmed my suspicions.” Gray sighed. “Now, I sent three seasoned assassins, and _watched_ through their eyes.”

“What happened?” Kyle looked over with renewed interest.

“The lad saw it coming; managed to send his horse to safety before our people attacked. He…” Gray shook his head, “He killed Jordan with an axe to the face; when Brandon moved to assist, he received a knife to the base of his skull.”

The two assassins exchanged glances; what had this knight done to the last to set Gray on edge? This seemed routine.

“But when he turned on Austin, he… he grappled, empty handed. Dragged him to the ground, screaming demands about _who_ or _why._ When Austin moved to stab him, he broke his wrist. I’ve never experienced someone else’s agony before, nor their fear. I’ve also never seen someone just _break_ like that. It wasn’t the same as watching someone crumble under torture; no, it was more akin to watching someone just forego their humanity in favor of _monstrosity._ Either way, bare handed, he tore out Austin’s throat. He is certainly someone to be feared.”

Gray rubbed his own neck as the other two exchanged glances.

“Maybe it’s best if we take him out in a less… direct… fashion.” Kyle spoke after a full minute of silence. “I for one, would love to get to know such a charming fellow, and seeing as he knows not who I am, it would be easy to work my way into his good graces.”

“So long as I do not have to face him, I don’t see why that might be an issue, but if he’s not human—if the enchantments on his armor, or that stone he wears, are any indication—we should be cautious.” Miles looked between Gray and Kyle.

“He’s not human. Not any more.” Gray looked up at his accomplices. “He needs to be stopped, whatever he’s become.”

“We’re assassins, not monster-hunters.” Miles raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure we shouldn’t attempt to observe him more, at least?”

“Observation, yes. Direct Action? Absolutely not. I agree, Kyle, that you should get to know him, but the moment there is any danger to yourself, you leave with what you’ve learned.” Gray looked pointedly at the dark-haired man. “Miles, I want you to work into our host’s good graces enough to ask about any books he might possess on subjects of undead; vampires, specifically. I want to know what you can find. In the meantime, I have a contract to set up.”

“Another Contract? Is it within the kingdom?” Miles looked interested.

“Yes. I’ll be sending one who won’t be recognized at the palace.” Gray grinned; toothy, almost wolf-like. “Regicide breeds regicide, after all.”

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Geoff had finally been granted leave from the capital. He wanted out; too much politics and not enough time to mourn a close friend had made him bitter and judgemental. He was riding out for Ram’s Peak, followed by a small group of his own guardsmen.

They were moving quickly as the snow began to thaw. It was mud-slogging, disgusting work. Hard on people, and hard on equipment. Pausing at a stream that was still mostly surrounded by snow on the way North the group took a moment to fan out and see what they could find. The idea was _supper._

Unfortunately for Geoff, who had followed the stream about a mile south, it wasn’t what he found.

Drawing his horse up short, he looked at the mess of blood and hoofmarks, footsteps and broken weaponry.

_“What happened??”_ He dismounted, drawing his sword and walking forwards. He followed the blood around a bit, before realizing that there was a body. “ _Gross.”_

He crouched down to look at it; they wore simple, dark hunter’s clothing. Some woodland creature had probably gotten their eyes already. Turning them over to face, he realized that no, nothing had touched them yet.

“Why hasn’t anything touched you?” Geoff looked them over for wounds, assuming torso first before realizing that all their wounds were at their throat. “Oh.”

Geoff stood, looking around, seeing something odd closer to the road. “By the _Gods_ what happened here?”

“Sir? Is something wrong?” his Sergeant had caught up.

“Uh, yeah. Sergeant, what causes wounds like what’s at that Hunter’s throat?” Geoff pointed, then walked out to investigate the rest of the scene.

“Sir that looks like a _vampire_ might’ve done it, but vampires don’t exist.” The sergeant was a no-nonsense type. He looked up and moved to join Geoff nearer the road. “What’s happened here?”

Geoff had crouched next to one of the bodies; rolling him over he found the face had been split by an axe. He looked at the armor, then saw that the sleeve had been rolled up on the right arm.

“Broken Mirror?” Geoff looked incredulous. “They wouldn’t have wasted three on a hunter, and the hunter wasn’t carrying an axe. What the _fuck.”_

“Sir, this one’s had his throat tore, but it looks more like it was by a _hand._ Who could be capable of that?”

“I have no idea. This is honestly just incentive to move quicker. I’ll send a letter to _my_ knights once we reach Ram’s Peak; They might collectively know something.” Geoff stood, shaking his head. “Let’s get out of here.”

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Sir Michael, Baron of Kelowna Hold, was walking the covered path between the main Keep and the stables when a young runner stopped him.

“Milord, the steward was looking for you.” The lad bowed quickly, then ran off.

“That’s nice, where is he?” Michael rolled his eyes, walking into the keep. The heavy wood, dark stone, and thick furs of his home were always a welcome sight. He hoped Lindsay would be allowed home soon; she’d been requested to stay, being the General, to ensure the new Monarch did not encounter issues.

Spotting Jon near the hearth discussing something with the head servant, he wandered over. Catching wind of their conversation, he couldn’t help but smirk.

As it had turned out, the man couldn’t smell a thing. The head servant was trying to ask about preferred scents for the dining hall. The discussion was not going well.

“Hello, Jon, you were looking for me?” Michael grinned.

“Yes, Milord. A letter reached us from the capital,” Jon turned and produced the parchment from his shirt pocket.

“Oh?” Michael accepted the letter, breaking the seal, then reading it’s contents. “I can’t believe they named an Heir.”

“They named an heir? Who, if I might ask?” Jon raised an eyebrow.

“Sir Gavin, Count of Kingscove.” Michael smirked. “I can’t wait to see how much this is going to blow up in their faces.”

“Sir Gavin, the archer who was with your group when I met you?” Jon blinked. “Is he not the one who asked absurd questions, and what one might do for a large sum of gold?”

“That’s the one.” Michael remarked dryly. “The whole kingdom think’s he’s an idiot.”

“Then why name him Heir?”

“Because King Matt trusts him. It’ll be interesting to see how that plays out, considering the list of Duchy’s that were passed over in favor of Kingscove being named.” Michael shook his head. “It would be a nice night for a ride, were it not a late blizzard. Come, Jon, we have some sums to figure.”

An echoing holler from outside paused their progress towards Michael’s study. Turning to look, they saw the armored Knight walk in, escorted by a pair of guards.

“Sir Jeremy?” Michael blinked.

“It appears so.” Jon remarked.

“Jeremy, are you alright?” Michael asked, walking forwards.

“I’m just fine, thank you. That storm is _nasty.”_ Jeremy paused. “Do you happen to have a well stocked alchemist? I’ve run out of supplies for healing potions.”

“What happened?” Michael had noticed the smattering of dried blood on Jeremy’s once white cloak. “Were you attacked? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine now!” Jeremy smirked, tight-lipped. “I was attacked on the way south to assist Ryan with something, by some loner.”

“You were attacked?” Jon raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah, and again on the way up here. The three that jumped me had the Broken Mirror tattoo on their wrists. I honestly don’t know who I’ve pissed off.” Jeremy shrugged. “I came here after stopping by Warden Wall.  We have something to discuss.”

“Did you just say you _survived a Broken Mirror assassination attempt?_ ” Michael looked at him, noting that the man’s armor was different than what he usually wore. “Can I get you an ale? I want to hear more about that.”

“I did. It wasn’t much to talk about; they jumped me but they weren’t expecting armor or an axe.” Jeremy glanced aside. “I passed a courier on the way here; who claimed that you knew something important, but he wasn’t supposed to tell me.”

“Oh, yeah. King Matt named an heir.” Michael shook his head. “But he didn’t name a Duchy, he named Gavin.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Nope.”

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.

Kyle had moved to leave Hayden’s Wood early in the morning, having overheard that Sir Jeremy was likely at Kelowna hold. He’d acquired clothing and supplies that would mark him as an apprentice alchemist; that would be the pretense by which he would attempt to observe the concerning knight. He’d paused at a wayhouse partway north when he overheard a discussion between some guardsmen there.

“Jameson said that they found some Broken Mirror sods murdered by the side of the road, did you hear?”

“I did! Strange that they were traveling together, and so obviously.”

Kyle smirked under his hood. He’d _love_ to show them what Broken Mirror could do to a place like this, but he wasn’t exactly looking to blow his cover. Listening to the local gossip, he found out who the new Heir was, and that the general opinion of said Heir was… less than flattering. Oh, what a surprise they’d be in for when they found out what he was truly capable of.

Leaving the wayhouse the next morning he continued north through the late winter snowfall. At some point he passed a group of guardsmen and a knight, but they were busy discussing something amongst themselves and payed him no mind.

He was trying to decide what he’d actually do if Sir Jeremy figured out who he was. He didn’t really want a fight, not after hearing from Gray what the man was capable of. Maybe he’d try to maintain an air of cluelessness. It usually worked on most people.

He reached Kelowna hold as the sun crested dusk; the Knight he was looking for was just riding out. Lucky for him.

“Excuse me, Sir?” he called forwards.

“Is there something I can help with?” Jeremy gave a friendly, curious smirk.

“I’m looking for someone; a Knight. Sir Jeremy of Northwatch. He’s an alchemist, I hear.” Kyle watched for any sign of threat.

“I’m Sir Jeremy. What need have you of an alchemist, freeman?”

“I’m looking to study under one. My village healer is aged, and I do not have the aptitude to learn the more direct magics. Alchemy seemed like a reasonable solution.”

“It is, yes. Might I have your name?”

“Kyle Taylor, Sir.” Kyle offered a hand- his right.

“I can teach you a few things, yes, but I am still a student of the art myself. Can you fight? My duties might get in the way of lessons if you can’t keep up.”

“I can; I was a hunter and a town guard before seeking alchemical studies.” Kyle wasn’t necessarily lying; he’d done both while waiting for targets.

“Do you have some kind of armor under your robes? I wouldn’t want you to suffer an unfortunate fate just by virtue of travelling with me.”

“I do; leather studded, Sir.”

“Please, call me Jeremy. We’re headed for Queensfield.”

“So you’ll train me??” Kyle was a bit shocked at Jeremy’s trusting nature.

“Of course.” Jeremy grinned and Kyle had a moment of _I thought Gray said the man had fangs._

The pair had ridden for part of the night before stopping in a common camping space and setting a fire. They’d stayed awake for some time while they discussed alchemical supplies and Kyle showed what he’d picked up; Jeremy offered to take the first watch.

Kyle did his best to remain awake but under the pretense of sleep; the young knight was alert and obviously thinking something over with a degree of intensity. Morning hit and Jeremy offered no explanation for not waking Kyle for a watch. They set a reasonably quick pace that day, reaching a village by mid-afternoon. Stopping for the evening, Jeremy rented an inn room and sat Kyle down for some basic instruction and practice.

As far as Kyle could tell, Jeremy was absolutely _not_ a threat. In fact, there seemed like absolutely no way for the man to have been the same one that killed three of his fellows. That alone was enough to keep him on edge. 


End file.
